A Girl Needs a Gun These Days
by babydykecate
Summary: The current BAU team is brought to Brooklyn when a series of murdered rapists looks to be the work of a vigilante. Elle/Prentiss, case!fic. Warning: deals with rape.
1. Happiness is a Warm Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. No profit made, no infringement intended.

Notes: A huge thanks to serialbathera for all her amazing advice as my beta.

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><p>Chapter 1: <em>Happiness is a Warm Gun<em>

_._

"New York wants us," JJ tells the team as she walks into the room, her arms full of files. All eyes are on her as she sets down the files and pulls up the case on the screen.

"Brooklyn to be precise. In the last 3 months they've had 4 murders, in Carroll Gardens, Bushwick, and Sunset Park. The last one was 24 hours ago. The victims were all males who had been investigated for rape, but the DA had declined to prosecute. Their ages and races vary, but they were all investigated within the last year. All were shot in the chest from close proximity with a 9mm, ballistics indicates the shooter was very skilled, likely an expert marksman. This is the first victim Ricky Knight, 35, shot in his apartment in Carroll Gardens," JJ tells them, as the images switch from a mug shot to the first crime scene.

"So they're thinking they've got a vigilante?" Morgan asks, "Do they have anything linking the murders other than the manner of death?"

"That's their assumption at the moment. The main reason for thinking this is one UnSub rather than unrelated murders is that in each of the victim's hands was a crumpled piece of paper with the words 'I am a rapist', and their hands had been posed in the fist post-mortem," JJ explains, showing a close up of the crime scene photos.

"Hand-written or typed?" Reid interrupts.

"Hand-written, same writing in all notes," JJ answers as she clicks the note onto the screen.

"Sounds like this isn't politically or socially motivated. The rape is personal for the UnSub, possibly a victim or a parent of one," Emily adds.

JJ nods, clicking the next crime scene image to the screen.

.

The team arrives in La Guardia at 10am. By 10:45 JJ and Reid are set-up in Brooklyn's 78th Precinct, Reid doing a handwriting analysis of the notes while JJ talks to the Sargent about the press. "The Brooklyn Rapist Avenger" already ran in today's New York Post, and JJ is determined to control tomorrow's headlines. Morgan and Prentiss are busy at work at the first crime scene, while Rossi and Hotch study the second.

"No signs of a break-in here, the chain's intact," Morgan calls out to Prentiss.

"Just finished checking the bedroom, all the windows are locked, dust undisturbed," Prentiss answers as she joins him in the living-room/kitchen space.

"Guy wasn't much of a housekeeper, huh?" Morgan laughs as he looks over the mess of empty beer bottles, discarded clothing and food wrappers.

Prentiss chuckles and shakes her head. "Probably a disorganized asocial offender rapist," she can't help but add, always the profiler.

"So how do think the UnSub got in? A ruse, or did they charm their way in?" Prentiss asks as she looks through the peep hole. "Line of sight is pretty good here, guy would know what he's opening the door to."

"Perhaps more importantly, how did our UnSub know where this guy lived? Without a conviction he's not a listed sex offender," Morgan offers.

"Maybe the UnSub stalked him, or maybe they just worked somewhere where they had access to that information. The UnSub could even be someone who works in the criminal justice system, they'd have all the addresses of defendants at trial," Prentiss replies.

"Nothing in this crime scene allows us to narrow down those possibilities. There should be something here at the scene of their first crime- rage, hesitation, or a mistake. Everything here is too undisturbed, too controlled," Morgan says, his brow furrowed.

"It could be that we still haven't found the first crime scene, only the latest. There could be a body still undiscovered, a crime from years ago, or too different in MO to connect yet," Prentiss suggests.

"Or this UnSub really is just this extremely organized," Morgan sighs.

Prentiss shakes her head, lips pursed.

"We're getting more questions than answers here, but maybe the next one will reveal more. Come on, I'll drive," Morgan says.

Prentiss raises an eyebrow.

.

The last crime scene offers little in the way of new clues, the only striking difference between the scenes is that the last victim seemed to be a bit less of a slob.

"We're thinking we've got an organized offender for sure, right? I mean, this UnSub knows their crimes and where they live. There's no struggle, no trace of DNA or fingerprints yet," Morgan says as he looks over the room again.

"I agree, everything here indicates planning. Let's call Hotch and see how the second crime scene compares," Prentiss says as she takes her phone from her waist.

"Agent Hotchner," Hotch answers.

"Hotch, we think we're looking at an organized offender," Prentiss replies.

"Our crime scene indicates that too. No signs of break-in, no disturbance inside. This UnSub was efficient and prepared," Hotch replies.

"No signs of disturbance or a break-in here either," Prentiss confirms.

"We're going to head to the third crime scene. Have you heard from Garcia?" Hotch asks.

"No, we'll call Garcia right now," Prentiss finishes, closing the phone.

Morgan flashes a smile as flips open his own phone.

"Hey sexy mama, you find us any links between the vics?" Morgan croons into the phone.

"You know I'd be risking my name as supreme Goddess of cross-referencing if I didn't," Garcia answers with a laugh.

"What have you got for us my Goddess?" Morgan says with a grin.

"Ooh, I like sound of that, you better call me that again sometime soon... Okay what I've got is that all four women our vics raped sought help from Brooklyn Rape Crisis," Garcia's voice quickly switches from playful to serious. She pauses, then adds, "I'm not sure you're going to like this, but guess who is the program director for Brooklyn Rape Crisis?"

"Don't keep me hanging pretty mama," Morgan continues teasing, unaware that the color has drained from Garcia's face thousands of miles away.

"Derek- it's Elle. Elle Greenaway is their program director," Garcia answers, her voice measured and full of concern.

Morgan's smile fades from his face. Prentiss thinks he might be about to swear. Slowly control washes over him.

"Okay, thanks Garcia," he says stiffly, hanging up the phone.

Prentiss waits until Morgan is ready to tell her, but she can't keep her curiosity and worry from her face.

"The link between our vics is former agent Elle Greenaway," he finally tells her.

Prentiss nods, biting her lip.

Morgan grips the phone tightly as he calls Hotch back, the muscles in his arm forming hard tense lines.

"Hotch, we've got a connection. It's Elle. She's back in Brooklyn working at the Rape Crisis that all of the women our vics raped turned to," Morgan says bluntly.

"I'll call JJ right now. I'll wait until we all meet up to tell the rest of the team. Good work Morgan," Hotch says, his reply the product of forced decisions, leaving no time for doubt or emotion.

The unnecessary and unwanted praise for suspecting Elle feels like a knot in Morgan's stomach, and can only manage a weak, "Yeah", before he hangs up.

A moment of silence lingers after the call between Morgan and Prentiss, the heaviness of the revelation weighing upon them.

Prentiss covers the awkwardness quickly, asking simply, "Precinct?"

Morgan nods, and they slip back in to their routine.


	2. On Account of those Rattlesnakes

Notes: Thanks for the reviews! Chapter and fic title from _Rattlesnakes_ by Tori Amos.

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><p>Chapter 2: <em>On Account of those Rattlesnakes<em>

_._

Prentiss and Morgan head back to the precinct to meet up with the rest of the team, few words passing between them as they drive.

Hotch's features are hardened as he tells the team of Elle's connection, only his eyes displaying the sympathy he feels for the team. Prentiss picks at her nails while Morgan stares straight ahead, with a sober expression as he avoids meeting his teammate's eyes.

"You really think Elle is the UnSub?" Reid asks incredulously, "A questionable agent shooting is one thing, but are you really willing to believe that Elle is killing multiple people, all pre-meditated?"

JJ simply stares back at him, still too shocked to debate Elle's guilt.

Hotch finally answers. "Elle changed immensely after she was shot. We really don't know what she's capable of. Reid, did you determine the handwriting to be female?"

Reid forces himself to focus back on his analysis. "All of the notes were consistent in writing style and pressure, most definitely all written by one person, almost certainly the UnSub. The writing is characteristically neat and with very slight flourishes, pointing to a female writer. A great deal of pressure was used, indicating anger, but the writing remained easily legible, this UnSub wanted their message to be clear. The lack of greater decoration and flourish in the writing may indicate a female writer who works in a situation where she must meet legibility requirements, and feels the need to make her handwriting more simple and masculine, such as a male dominated field, but that remains highly speculative," Reid answers.

"Okay. We've all agreed that the crime scenes indicate a highly-organized killer, an UnSub who may have stalked our victims and charmed their way into their homes. Is there anything in matter of death, evidence, or crime scenes that gives us greater insight into this UnSub?" Hotch asks his team.

"I know we discussed earlier the possibility that the UnSub was either a victim of rape or a family member of someone who was raped. Family members would react with more bodily rage, and yet the crime scenes showed no signs of a struggle. The point-blank shooting and the notes indicate a more emotional rage, that of someone who has been personally victimized. I think we can safely say that this UnSub is not only a rape victim, but almost definitely female based on the victims she chose: men like her own attacker," Prentiss declares.

"I agree, this UnSub is definitely female," Rossi confirms.

"I don't disagree that our UnSub is female, but Elle doesn't fit the profile- she wasn't raped," Reid voices the thought that had passed through a few team members' thoughts.

"We could be wrong about the UnSub's motivation. Elle reacted to her shooting like a violation, perhaps she sees it that way," Hotch counters.

"Elle isn't delusional, and neither is this UnSub," Morgan breaks in.

"I'm just saying we don't have all the pieces of the puzzle yet. Elle is the strongest suspect we've got so far, but it's still highly circumstantial. We need to keep working the profile. JJ, you had Garcia do more of a background on Elle, looking for any more connections with our case?" Hotch asks.

"Yes," JJ replies looking over the fax from Garcia, "Elle has a 9mm Smith & Wesson registered, the same make and model as our shooter. Elle moved to Brooklyn a year after she left the department, and she's resided in Park Slope ever since. The program she manages provides individual and group therapy, legal representation, medical support and private security for rape and sexual abuse survivors and their families. It is a nationally recognized and well-respected public organization and a registered non-profit."

"Park Slope is almost equidistant to all the crime scenes, it fits the UnSub's geographical profile," Prentiss says, her eyes fixed on her hands.

"I think it's time we bring Elle in for questioning. We have to treat her like any other suspect with this many connections to the vics. Morgan and I will pick up Elle. Prentiss, I want you to interview her. Reid and Rossi, stay here with JJ and keep going over the crime scene photos. Check-in with Garcia in 20 to see if she's got any other leads," Hotch orders.

.

In the midst of a sea of brownstones and industrial buildings, Brooklyn Rape Crisis stands out. A crisp white Edwardian building with forest green trim, it is clearly the product of dedicated repainting to combat the grit and graffiti that comes with the city. Elle's name shines in gold lettering on the door that Hotch swings open forcefully. The two men make their way up the stairs to find a small waiting room outfitted with comfortable-looking stylish sofas, a wall of brochures from the city on health and support, and a small library of weathered books. A secretary's desk lies empty at their right, and at their left is a door that's opened slightly, the faint sound of jazz spilling into the room.

Hotch pushes the door open, revealing Elle at her desk.

"Hotch," Elle acknowledges as she looks up, her tone has a small hint of surprise, and a larger hint of expectation.

"Elle," Hotch replies as he steps inside the office, his tone sharp and stern, reminiscent of a disappointed father.

Morgan follows behind Hotch, staring at Elle as he enters the room. Elle meets his eyes, but doesn't address him.

"What can I do for you, Hotch?" Elle asks. Morgan can see the tension in her body and the defensiveness in her tone beyond her smile.

"There have been a series of murders in the area. Four unconvicted rapists, shot point-blank in their apartments," Hotch replies evenly.

"And you think I did it?" Elle asks with slight amusement.

"We think you have strong connections to the victims, and have the same handgun registered. Elle, you need to come in with us for questioning," Hotch answers.

"Run ballistics on my gun, Hotch. You won't find a match," Elle answers as she unholsters her gun and sets it on the the desk, her eyes never leaving Hotch. In her peripheral vision she watches as Hotch and Morgan's hands move to rest on their weapons as she unholsters hers.

"We will," Hotch answers, taking the clip from Elle's gun and sliding the gun into his spare holster.

Morgan gently brings his hand to grip Elle's arm, their eyes meeting again as he leads her out of the office.

"So which lucky member of the team is profiling me?" Elle asks from the back seat as they drive to the Precinct.

"Emily Prentiss. She's new," Hotch replies.


	3. She was Cuffed to the Truth

Notes: Thanks for the reviews! It's not just wishful thinking Sirens'Spell ;).

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><p>Chapter 3: <em>She was Cuffed to the Truth like the Truth was a Chair<em>

_._

Prentiss doesn't look at Elle as she walks into the room. Instead she focuses on arranging the stacks of files in front of her, the medical, school and financial records only forming a small stack beside Elle's FBI records. Every background search, shooting, and disciplinary write-up now lies at her fingertips. Between the additional access Garcia had been allowed and some very illegal hacking into each and every locked and hidden file on Elle in the FBI's database, under any other circumstance Garcia would be gleeful at having the FBI's secrets at her fingertips, but today she could barely crack a smile when she gave Prentiss the files.

Elle leans back in her chair, arms crossed and legs stretched, as Prentiss arranges her papers, observing her silently.

"So you're the new me?" Elle asks with a chuckle.

"I joined the team two months after you left," Prentiss replies, raising her eyes from the papers to meet Elle's.

"You any good?" Elle asks.

"You'll have to tell me," Prentiss replies.

"I will," Elle responds with a slight amusement.

"These four men: Ricky Knight, Benjamin James, Bradley Cook, and Devon Riley," Prentiss begins, pushing each mug shot in front of Elle, "were all shot in their apartments in the last 3 months," she then lays the crime scene photos over them, "Each of these men was accused of rape, but never tried. The women who accused them all sought help from your organization."

"I know who they are and what they did. It doesn't mean I killed them," Elle replies easily.

"No, but you also had files on each of them, with their home and work addresses. Everyday you would listen to their victims recount the torture those men put them through, and you would deal with the immense ramifications of their crimes. You'd work tirelessly to make them pay for their crimes and instead you would see them getting away with it. Everything you needed to stop them was there in your office- their addresses, your gun. Why wouldn't you want to do what the law had failed to do: bring these men to account for their crimes and lock them away so they could never hurt anyone else?" Prentiss asks.

"Many people have access to that information, why don't they all kill them?" Elle replies with a smirk.

"Because they don't know what it's like to feel powerless, but you do," Prentiss responds, her eyes fixed on Elle, challenging her to admit she takes it personally.

"I was in the FBI, _Agent_ Prentiss. Between my training and my gun, I can protect myself just fine. I could probably even kick your ass," Elle says pointedly.

"I don't doubt that you'd be a challenging sparing partner, but when you were shot in your home, your training and gun were useless to protect you," Prentiss replies.

Elle's jaw is clenched, her features set in stone, refusing to respond in any way.

"The truth is that while you pride yourself on your ability to defend yourself, Randall Garner took that all away in an instant. He shot you before you could get your gun and then reached inside your wound and wrote in your blood, while you lay dying. He took away your ability to protect yourself, to feel safe, to trust that others could protect you, and he almost took your life. So I think maybe you can understand that violation more than most," Prentiss says gently.

"Empathy isn't a crime," Elle replies tightly.

"I don't think you just empathized Ms. Greenaway, I think you saw yourself in those women. So much so that you felt like it was happening to you, over and over. You needed that control back, and you took it. Just like you did when you shot William Lee," Prentiss says, her voice biting.

"I helped those women in every possible legal way, and that was enough," Elle replies forcefully, her voice rising in volume, skirting much of Prentiss' assertion.

"Was it really enough? Watching those women suffer, those men going free, feeling that rage and knowing you could do something? You couldn't let those men prove you powerless yet again," Prentiss presses.

"I didn't kill any of those men, and the ballistics will prove it," Elle replies, trying to shut down the line of questioning.

Prentiss flips through the files, letting the silence build its own tension.

"Before you joined the FBI, you studied Criminology at NYU?" Prentiss questions.

"Yes, what does that have to do with anything?" Elle asks in frustration.

"Half-way through your freshman year you withdrew for a semester, but no reason was listed," Prentiss continues.

"I just needed a break," Elle says with a shrug.

"You don't take 'breaks'. In the FBI you were nothing if not focused on your career and your work. What's the real reason you dropped out of university Ms. Greenaway?" Prentiss presses.

Elle glares silently at Prentiss.

"Were you raped?" Prentiss asks directly.

Elle doesn't respond in any way, not even the slightest movement.

Prentiss waits. For almost a minute they sit in silence, the room frozen in an eerily stillness.

"Yes," Elle finally replies, giving nothing but the syllable away.

"And your rapist was never convicted?" Prentiss asks.

"No," Elle replies shortly.

"Why isn't there a police report?" Prentiss asks.

"My father's friends in the department kept it quiet. DNA never matched a perp or other victims, and the leads went cold," Elle replies with a dark laugh.

"So you never got any sort of justice?" Prentiss asks.

"No," Elle replies tersely.

"But these men, they got justice. They got what they deserved," Prentiss posits.

"Not from me. Do you know why I joined the FBI Agent Prentiss, why I started studying Criminology,?" Elle asks rhetorically.

Prentiss shakes her head.

"After I was raped I started reading every book I could find about sexual violence. I read book after book about the psychology of rape and the rapist, about victimology and indicators. The one thing that brought me peace was profiling my rapist," Elle tells Prentiss, forcing her to meet Elle's eyes.

Now it's Prentiss's turn to be silent, unable to stop sympathy from creeping into her features.

"Anger-Retalaitority. Classic extreme rage and excessive violence. Defensive wounds, along with facial and genital injuries on the victim," Elle recites, her voice clinical.

"How badly were you hurt?" Prentiss asks softly.

"I spent a week in the hospital, same as when I was shot," Elle replies without emotion.

"To come back from that to work everyday with similar crimes, both at the FBI and now Brooklyn Rape Crisis, that would take a very strong person," Prentiss says, once again studying Elle.

Elle remains silent, her eyes locked on Prentiss as though in a staring contest.

"Is it anger that fuels that strength?" Prentiss asks after a moment.

"It's control, Agent Prentiss. Control and steadfast determination. I control the playing field, my actions, my life. I may have lost my control after my shooting, but never since," Elle finally replies.

Now Prentiss is silent. Elle starts studying the photographs in front of her.

"What's my stressor?" Elle asks Prentiss, not looking up from the crime scene photos.

Prentiss doesn't respond.

"My shooting was years ago. If that was my stressor I should have started my spree years ago. I haven't dated anyone in years, haven't had anyone recently die. Even the loss of my job was years ago," Elle continues as she flips through the photos.

"Your work with these women could…" Prentiss starts.

"I've had the job for over a year. Far before the first murder," Elle interrupts.

"Perhaps it was a particular victim that had a very similar MO to yours," Prentiss replies.

"Katharine Garret," Elle murmurs, pausing on the photograph of the notes.

"Is that a confession?" Prentiss asks gently.

"She was brutally raped 5 months ago. The DA declined to prosecute just 3 months ago," Elle says, almost more to herself.

"And that triggered memories of your rape?" Prentiss leads.

"No, don't you see? The rape had to be more recent. It was the stressor, along with the DA's decision not to prosecute. This is Katharine's writing," Elle says, her voice rising.

"Would she have had a chance to meet the victims of the murdered men?" Prentiss asks, intrigued.

"Yes, at group. We have a group therapy session once a week, and Katharine was always there. She was so angry, I think she scared the others a bit. I thought that anger might help her survive, not turn her into a killer," Elle replies sadly.

"What about the men's addresses?" Prentiss asks.

"She often helps me clean up. One day I noticed files were missing, but I thought I must had just misplaced them. The next day there were back," Elle replies.

"Does she have any other possible stressors? A boyfriend?" Prentiss asks.

"No, but I believe she lost her job not long ago. She couldn't keep the depression and PTSD from affecting her work," Elle replies.

"PTSD?" Prentiss repeats.

"A pretty bad case of it. Nightmares and flashbacks got to the point where she seemed to be reliving it almost daily," Elle tells her.

"I'm going to have Garcia do a full check into her. You can go now Elle, but please don't leave town," Prentiss says as she gathers all the files.

"You have my number," Elle replies, and Prentiss could almost swear she sees the hint of a soft smile upon her lips.


	4. The Beast You've Made of Me

Notes: Thanks for the reviews!

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><p>Chapter 4: <em>The Beast You've Made of Me<em>

_._

"Garcia, what have you got?" Hotch asks as the remainder of the team gathers around the video call.

"Katharine Garret, 25, was born in upstate New York. Her father was a lawyer, her mother a homemaker. Mother died when she was 5. Father had a hunting license, and when she was 15 he got one for her too," Garcia begins.

"That explains how she learned to shoot so well," Rossi breaks in.

"Not only that, but Katharine won several prizes for her shooting skill in her teens. She was an A and B student all through school, never in any trouble, not even a speeding ticket. From all accounts she was a very bright, talented young woman. It all changes 5 months ago, when she was raped. She starts spending large amounts of money on security- locks, lights, and alarms. She gets herself a gun, the 9mm, a month later," Garcia continues.

"A preoccupation with security and defense isn't that unusual after a sexual assault. Is there anything besides attending Brooklyn Rape Crisis and owning a 9mm that ties her to the crimes?" Morgan asks.

"Patience hot-stuff, I'm getting there. These records indicate her behaviour became increasingly erratic and volatile. She has what looks to be impulse spending, where she racks up massive bills in a single day, and then she goes days without spending a cent. She stops paying her bills, and starts racking up massive bar taps that go well into the early morning hours," Garcia replies.

"You're right, those do sound like more extreme behaviors than one would normally expect from a victim of assault," Rossi agrees.

"Oh God," Garcia gasps, her normally perky features twisting into shock.

"Baby girl, what is it?" Morgan asks concerned.

"I was cross referencing the financials of Katharine and Elle with our dead guys, hoping to find a location where they might have crossed. You know, if either of them were stalking the guys, or even just randomly saw them and that caused…" Garcia rambles, her face flushed with anxiety.

"Garcia, what did you find?" Hotch asks sternly, a silent request to get to the point.

"Katharine and Ricky both drank at the same bar a week before he was murdered. This bar wasn't one of her regular haunts, it's a bar and grill in Carroll Gardens," Garcia responds, her voice stronger, her thoughts more focused.

"So, okay, then she was stalking him," JJ concludes.

"No, no, it's- The bills show they both ordered drinks at the bar, and then Ricky orders drinks two at a time from the restaurant, and Katharine stops buying any," Garcia says in a rush.

"You think-," Reid starts incredulously.

"-That they were on a date?" Emily finishes for him, disgust evident in her voice.

"So we're thinking she went on a date with this guy, knowing what he did? That's a whole different level of risk-taking, self-destructive behaviour," Morgan finishes the thought.

Garcia can only nod from BAU Headquarters, her face stricken.

"Extreme risk-taking evolving into murder?" Reid asks.

"We've seen it before," Rossi counters.

"But if she was drinking that heavily, how was she able to keep her crime scenes so controlled?" Reid presses.

"Maybe the murder was a substitute for the drinking," Morgan suggests.

"So she gets pleasure from the murders? There's nothing in these crime scenes to indicate sadism or even euphoria. She doesn't keep trophies, and the notes aren't boasting," Reid argues.

"It's not about pleasure, Reid. She starts out feeling angry, guilty, ashamed. She tries to harm herself, hoping that punishment will be enough to ease the guilt, but it isn't. So instead she turns to the anger, and tries hurting someone else. It doesn't make her pain go away, but it offers just enough relief that she keeps doing it. It's like a drug, and the control in her crime scenes is her version of hiding the drug use. She knows if gets caught she'll have to stop, and she can't stop. The notes are an attempt to lessen the guilt, to put the blame on someone else. That's the other reason she can't get caught: she needs this vengeance to redirect the blame," Morgan explains, seeming to understand a little too well how the UnSub's mind might work, but no one articulates that.

"Control. Elle kept saying after her rape the main thing she wanted was control," Prentiss thinks aloud. The rest of the team averts their eyes from Prentiss, unable to accept the reality of Elle's assault so soon.

"For Elle, control was focusing on her job to the exclusion of anything else, and not allowing anyone else to see any of the ramifications of her shooting, or have any sense of her emotions. For our UnSub, control is annihilating anyone she sees as a threat to herself or others, all the while doing so in such an organized and skilled fashion that she evades detection. I wouldn't be surprised if she was working up to killing her rapist, and we could expect that crime scene to show more anger and less control. She wouldn't care about getting caught once she'd finally killed the man that started everything," Prentiss continues.

"Elle drank, but remained high functioning," Reid says softly, a tinge of guilt still present in his voice despite the many years that have passed.

"Not your fault, kid," Morgan mutters under his breath, resting his hand on Reid's arm.

"We have a very strong profile and supporting evidence for Katharine Garret, and I want her in our custody asap. Garcia, put out an APB and start using every resource you've got to track her down. Morgan and Reid, I want you to go through the other women in that support group. We've got to narrow down which man she might be going after next. See if you can figure out how she choose the order of her victims. JJ, you facilitate with the locals, make sure we've got plenty of cops looking for her. Prentiss, Rossi, we're going to get a search warrant for her apartment," Hotch orders, calling his team to action.


	5. Seven Devils All Around You

Notes: Thanks for the reviews! What a lovely compliment SuiLon434 :).

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><p>Chapter 5: <em>Seven Devils All Around You <em>

.

Prentiss is on Hotch's heels when he stops abruptly in the hall, and soon she sees the reason why. Elle leans against the wall, eyes hard, lips curled in a stubborn smile.

"I should be there Hotch," Elle says, as though this were only a tense fight between good friends, not long estranged ones.

"I'm not discussing this Elle," Hotch answers firmly, taking a step toward the door.

"She trusts me," Elle argues.

"You're no longer an agent. You have no business being involved any further," Hotch replies, not looking at Elle.

"You're the ones who involved me!," Elle snaps, her voice raised. "Hotch, I could be valuable in there. I know this girl. I understand her," Elle adds, softer.

"No gun," Hotch finally replies.

Elle raises an eyebrow. Hotch returns a hard look. Prentiss leaves them in the hall and walks back into the precinct.

"Fine, fine, no gun. Still haven't gotten mine back from you guys anyway," Elle says after a moment, resigned. "Where you are guys headed now?"

"Katharine's apartment," Prentiss answers as she returns.

"Waste of time. We need to go to Trevor Lloyd's apartment, and we need to be there before nightfall," Elle answers, as she adjusts the kevlar vest Prentiss handed her.

"Katharine's rapist? You really think she's already worked her way up to that?" Prentiss asks as she recalls the name from the screen.

"Based on the last group session? Hell yes," Elle replies without explanation.

"Okay, Rossi can go ahead to Katharine's apartment with the locals, and we'll head to Lloyd's now," Hotch declares.

.

The setting sun paints the run-down block in a warmer glow, dusky purples and oranges reflected in the barred windows. The super responds quickly to the buzzer, and soon Hotch, Prentiss and Elle are making their way up the stairs, followed closely by the SWAT team. Outside other SWAT members cover the perimeter and try to get a visual inside the apartment. SWAT works on clearing the surrounding apartments as Hotch and his team approach the apartment door.

"Unlocked," Hotch says quietly, raising his eyebrows.

"She's getting sloppy," Prentiss answers, giving Hotch a worried look.

Hotch eases the door open and gestures their formation to Prentiss. They clear the front two rooms quickly, with Elle following closely behind Prentiss. When they come to the ajar door at the end of the hall, Hotch and Prentiss take position on either side, with Hotch counting down on his hand.

"FBI, freeze!" Hotch and Prentiss yell as they enter the room, guns trained.

In the corner of the room Lloyd is backed against the wall, with a bloodied and bruised cheek. Standing in front of him is Katharine, her hair and clothes disheveled, her gun pointed at his chest.

"Ms. Garret, I need you to put down the gun," Hotch orders as he and Prentiss move into the room, inching toward Katharine.

"No clear shot," SWAT crackles into Hotch's ear piece.

"Katharine," Elle says softly.

Katharine turns her head to Elle, revealing tear tracks down her cheeks and a bruise on her neck.

"Elle, you can't stop me," Katharine responds, the hand holding the gun shaking slightly.

"He isn't worth your life, Katharine," Elle tells her, taking two steps toward her.

"I don't want my life!" Katharine shouts, her hand now shaking violently.

"I know," Elle replies gently, now less than two feet from Katharine.

"You know?" Katharine asks, her face crumpling.

"I know," Elle confirms, her hands swiftly grabbing the gun while Katharine is distracted. She hands the weapon off to Prentiss, then pulls Katharine into her arms. Heavy sobs wrack Katharine's body as she clings to Elle. Around them Hotch leads Lloyd from the room and Prentiss watches awkwardly.

Eventually Elle helps Prentiss cuff Katharine. As their bodies brush against each other, Prentiss notices the redness around Elle's eyes.

.

Elle is unstrapping her kevlar vest by the curb when Prentiss walks over to her.

"How about a drink? You've earned it," Prentiss suggests.

"You buying?" Elle retorts.

"Oh yeah, the first round's on me. After that we'll just have to fight it out," Prentiss says with a smile.

"I guess we will," Elle replies, handing Prentiss the vest. "There's a good bar two stops from here."

"We're taking the subway?" Prentiss questions.

"Hell yes. You're in my city now," Elle says with a laugh.


	6. She's Got a Gun for a Tongue

Notes: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: <em>She's Got a<em> _Gun for a Tongue_

_._

Prentiss's cosmo is ice cold, a blessed relief from the nightclub's body-generated heating system. Condensation tracks down Prentiss's arm from the glass, and she considers taking off her blazer. She stops when she realizes that Elle is no longer sipping her gin and is now studying her, her lips curling at the edges.

"What?" Prentiss asks, meeting Elle's gaze.

"You weren't lying," Elle says, her nails clicking against the glass.

"About…?" Prentiss questions, lost without context.

"You're a damn good profiler," Elle replies, giving a smile that is at the same time commending and predatory.

"So you approve of your replacement?" Prentiss jokingly questions, sidestepping the compliment.

"Something like that," Elle says with a laugh.

A moment passes in which they say nothing, focusing instead on their drinks.

"But-" Elle begins, pausing to let Prentiss into the repartee.

"Yes?" Prentiss joins in easily.

"It's not really fair-" Elle continues.

"Um hmm?" Prentiss urges.

"You got to profile me, but I didn't get to return the favor," Elle finishes, her eyebrow arched.

"The night's still young," Prentiss replies, deviousness sparkling in her dark brown eyes.

"You should be careful Agent Prentiss, I just might take you up on that," Elle warns.

"I told you that I thought you'd make a challenging sparring partner," Prentiss counters.

"Well, we can hardly spar right here, can we?" Elle says, tipping back the last of her gin.

"No, I think we'd need somewhere with a bit more space… and mats," Prentiss replies.

"And do you have any idea where we might find such a place at this hour?" Elle asks with a knowing smile.

"Oh, I think I might. I think I just might," Prentiss returns the smile, putting down a few bills for the tip.

.

They have just arrived at Elle's apartment door when Elle takes Prentiss' arm and pulls it behind her, pushing her against the door.

Prentiss doesn't respond with fear, but desire, knowing Elle's grip would be tighter if she were serious, not to mention that she'd be disarmed. She strains her body against Elle's hold, craning her head to the side to expose her neck.

"Agent Emily Prentiss," Elle murmurs, her breath hot against Prentiss' ear. "Can I call you Emily?"

"Yes, you may," Emily replies, her voice slightly deepened with desire.

"Good," Elle replies, pressing her lips against Emily's neck. Elle then turns Emily around, still pinning her to the door, and unlocks it. Elle turns on the lamp nearest the door, casting soft light into the living room, while Emily locks the door behind them. Emily then takes a step toward the sofa, but Elle stops her by pulling their bodies once again into an embrace. Emily expects a kiss, but instead Elle's hands trace the curve of her hip to her gun holster.

"Glock 19," Elle says confidently before unstrapping the holster.

"Correct," Emily replies with a smile.

Elle checks the safety before setting it on the side table. Elle then returns to run her hands along Emily's body, tracing intoxicating paths until Elle leans down and raises Emily's pant leg.

"Glock 26," Elle murmurs.

Emily laughs softly. "Yes."

Elle places the gun beside the other.

"Your clothing is reasonably expensive, but not at all showy. You come from money, but you go out of your way to hide that fact," Elle declares as she unbuttons Emily's blazer.

Emily doesn't reply, her eyes following Elle's every movement and concealing any reaction.

"Interestingly, you don't allow your clothing to reveal much about your personality. You pick your clothing based on the requirements for the job, rather than your own preferences. Your clothing is there simply to fulfill the role you play: FBI agent. You have played other roles before, both in your teens and as an adult," Elle posits as she unbuckles Emily's belt.

Emily bites her lip, torn between desire, affront and respect for the profiler.

"However you wear lower cut shirts than the job would require," Elle continues, her fingers skimming along the neckline of Emily's shirt, feeling the rise of Emily's chest beneath her fingers as Emily takes a deep breath in response.

"You are very comfortable with your body and sexuality, to the point where you are willing to use them for your job. For you it's simply another role to play, and there's nothing to lose because no one has ever gotten to see you without some kind of role," Elle continues, pulling Emily's shirt over her head to reveal a lace navy bra.

At the glimpse of the bra, Elle smiles and Emily raises her eyebrow.

"Your underwear, on the other hand, is highly personal. You wear lacy bras in the hope that someday you'll allow someone to see you without a mask. The alluring lingerie represents the intimacy that you wish for, yet are unable to allow yourself, so you hide it beneath your professional dress shirts," Elle remarks, her fingers expertly unhooking the bra.

Emily slides the loose bra from her shoulders, her eyes never leaving Elle's.

"What, you can't find anything revealing about my pants?" Emily asks when Elle unbuttons and slides them down her legs without comment.

Instead of responding, Elle takes one of Emily's hands, mapping every inch with her fingers, sending sparks through Emily's nerves.

"Soft," Elle murmurs, her voice seductively low.

"I moisturize," Emily retorts with a smile.

"Severely bitten nails, indicating very high levels of stress and an absence of other coping strategies. You learned early to solve your own problems and only rely on yourself, hence your lack of a support system to cope with stress," Elle says as she examines Emily's nails.

Emily shrugs, pulling her hand from Elle's and looking away. "Job's stressful. There are worse coping strategies," she replies dismissively.

Elle catches Emily's chin, gently guiding her head to meet Elle's gaze.

"I should know," Elle tells her, with a teasing smile, and revealing eyes.

Emily nods, blushing slightly. "Yeah, right, of course."

Elle's hand is still against Emily's cheek, and now she brushes her thumb against Emily's lips. Emily parts her lips slightly, her breath hot against Elle's thumb.

"Emily-" Elle says with a sigh, her thumb sliding down, tugging across Emily's bottom lip, in a path down the center of her chin, finally resting on her neck as Elle draws Emily to her lips.

Elle barely presses into the kiss, so that their lips rest against each other, both breathing heavily, the rise and fall of their chests brushing their bodies together. They stay in that position as Emily slides her hand down Elle's neck, across her collarbone, unbuttoning the top button of Elle's shirt. As Emily undoes the second button she brushes against the raised scar tissue. Elle shivers and pulls back, her eyes on Emily. Emily finishes unbuttoning Elle's shirt, and then hovers her hand above Elle's scar, silently asking for permission. Elle nods, and Emily's fingers gently trace the scar before dipping into the curve of Elle's breasts. Elle closes her eyes and lets out a muted sigh.


	7. Gravity

Notes: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: <em>Gravity<em>

_._

"Tell me," Emily whispers softly in Elle's ear, "tell me what I can do and what I can't. Tell what you want and what you don't."

Elle brings Emily's hand to her bra clasp, nodding against Emily, their bodies pressed close. Emily complies, her fingers making quick work of the metal hooks. Elle slides down the straps, the bra pinned between their bodies.

"I want this," Elle murmurs, "I want you."

Emily smiles, kissing Elle's neck just below her ear.

"Just keep me here with you, remind me it's you," Elle adds softly, her voice catching slightly.

"Okay," Emily replies, her fingers tracing Elle's cheek as she meets her eyes.

Emily takes Elle's hand to lead her to the sofa, Elle's bra fluttering to the floor. Emily straddles Elle's lap, soft eager kisses covering Elle from her neck to the low curve of her breast, her hands anchored on Elle's hips.

Elle's moan is almost growl-like as her hands grip Emily's back. A sudden intensity courses through Elle as she rolls Emily onto her back, the surprise enough to easily turn the tables on Emily.

Elle's hands trace strong possessive lines on Emily's body, teasing lower and lower. Emily's eyes are closed, her head tilted back when Elle's voice cuts through the fog of desire.

"How about you, Emily, do you want this?" Elle asks, her hands now still after her thumb inched under the elastic of Emily's lace boy-cut briefs. Emily's eyes open slowly, turning her head down to meet Elle's gaze.

"Yes, I do," she answers simply and honestly.

Elle's gaze has a burning intensity as she locks eyes with Emily, tracing a light pattern with her thumb before slipping all her fingers under the lace. As Elle's chilled fingers make contact with Emily's flushed sensitive bud, Emily hisses, and when Elle's fingers slide against the slick folds, the hiss turns into a whimper. It's not a noise one would normally associate with the agent, but for Elle it's a discovery she enjoys.

Elle's pace is agonizingly slow as she presses into Emily, enjoying the contortions Emily's face makes when at last her finger is inside her. Emily arches her back as Elle's now wet finger traces back up to her clit. Elle pushes Emily back against the sofa with her free hand, continuing her ministrations with the other. Emily reaches out, her hand atop Elle's, begging for more pressure. Elle pushes her hand away and rests it on the sofa behind Emily's head, the movement a playfully benign act of dominance. Emily's request is granted as Elle's fingers circle harder and faster, leaving Emily gasping as her body quivers involuntarily. Emily locks her fingers with Elle as her breathing becomes frantic. Gasping breaths give way to tremors that rack Emily's body, Elle's hand above her head clutched in an iron grip as she rides out the orgasm. The tremors slow to aftershocks as Emily's head falls limp against the sofa, her eyes fluttering as she tries to look back at Elle.

"Jesus Christ," Emily finally mutters, still panting.

Elle smirks, "Not my first time at this rodeo."

"Yeah, I got that," Emily replies, a hint of sarcasm in her breathless reply.

Elle licks her finger, then traces wet swirls along Emily's exposed breasts, raising her eyebrow at each aftershock she induces.

"College or BAU?" Emily manages between gasps.

"Won't you like to know," Elle replies, her finger tracing lower down Emily's stomach.

"Any dirty little secrets with JJ or Garcia?" Emily asks, looking at Elle out of the side of half-closed slits, her voice deep.

"Emily Prentiss, I believe you'll have to ask them," Elle responds, flicking the elastic of Emily's briefs.

"Oh yes, that's a conversation I'd love to have- 'Hey JJ, have you slept with Elle, because I have!'," Emily says sarcastically before succumbing to breathless giggles as Elle tickles her sides.

"I surrender, I surrender," Emily at last relents as Elle smiles triumphantly, her hands finally ceasing their gleeful torment.

"You don't play fair," Emily tells Elle with a playful glare as she holds Elle's wrists at her sides.

"Never," Elle replies.

"Well, I believe in fairness, and you're still wearing pants while I'm not," Emily teases.

Elle raises her eyebrow. "I'll trade you pants for my bed," she offers.

"That's a deal I can't refuse," Emily murmurs as she wraps her arms around Elle's waist and stands up.

Between kisses and roaming hands they finally make it past Elle's door to her bed. Emily gently lays Elle down on her bed, Elle watching Emily intently as Emily undoes the top button of her pants. Elle moves her hips to help Emily shimmy her pants off, and then Emily climbs back into the bed, leaning over Elle.

"Elle-" Emily says gently.

"Emily-" Elle replies, matching her tone while adding a tone of annoyance.

Emily bites her lip, silently regarding Elle. After a moment she leans down, pressing her lips to the hollow of Elle's collarbone before tracing lines of reverent kisses along Elle's ribs and stomach, lingering along fine white lines to place the lightest of feather-light kisses. When Emily kisses back up to Elle's lips, she finds Elle's eyes shinning, hints of tears that Elle can never admit to. Emily then kisses Elle deeply, clutching Elle tightly to her as they roll in the bed, their bodies stubborn flesh that refuses to become one. At last the needy kiss finishes, and Emily holds Elle in her arms, Elle uncomfortable under Emily's close gaze, but not so much that she wants to break the embrace.

"I would never hurt you," Emily tells Elle softly with conviction, perhaps sensing some of the tension in Elle's body.

Elle rolls her eyes, but in the brief moment after, shows Emily an appreciative smile. Elle then intertwines her fingers in Emily's hair, pulling Emily into another kiss. She kisses Emily now with less need, her tongue slowly exploring every detail of Emily's mouth, from the indentation on Emily's lip from her teeth, to the sensation of Emily's tongue against her's. As Elle's tongue explores Emily, Emily's hand explores Elle, fingers dancing on the small erect buds and the impossibly soft goose-pimpled skin that surrounds it. Satisfied by the low moan that she elicits, Emily traces from under the curve of Elle's breasts, across her faintly visible ribs and taut stomach, resting in the shallow dip beneath.

"May I?" Emily whispers into Elle's ear.

"Yes," Elle whispers back, holding Emily tightly.

Emily's hand slips under the silk, her fingers curling to meet Elle's anticipating warmth. Emily strokes steady curves around Elle's clit, her fingers slick from Elle's arousal. At last Elle lessens her grip on Emily, her muscles no longer under her control as waves of pleasure leave her exhausted and trembling. Emily brushes the hair from Elle's face with her free hand, tracing along Elle's cheekbone until Elle opens her eyes to meet Emily's gaze.

Emily traces harder and faster, keeping her eyes locked with Elle's. Elle's mouth opens in a gasping, muted orgasm, only leaving Emily's gaze for milliseconds at a time. Emily's hand strokes Elle's check as the orgasm crescendos and abates. Slowly their arms move in synchrony, cocooning their bodies in the sheets as they drift off to sleep, still facing each other.


End file.
